Qian Jiaoniang paused outside the door for a moment, smiled, then flicked her sleeves and left.
Just as she stepped out, she ran into Xing Pingchun, who had just finished holding his horse stance. He was clutching his stomach, loudly crying out that he was hungry. Qian Jiaoniang had no choice but to take him to the kitchen, reheat some leftover dishes, and let him eat. Li Qing’s wife brought her son over to keep him company. After wolfing down his food, Xing Pingchun immediately dragged Li Ding off to play. Qian Jiaoniang shook her head with a chuckle and was about to clean up the dishes, but Qian Xiao’e hurriedly stopped her and insisted she return to her room to rest.
At the mention of her room, Qian Jiaoniang recalled that Li Qing had suggested she sleep in the same room as Xing Muzheng. She opened her mouth to say something to Qian Xiao’e but hesitated, thinking it better not to stir up unnecessary trouble. Instead, she took her bedding and quietly went to Qingya’s room.
After wiping her hands, she went out again. Qingya was currently in her small room folding paper gold ingots for tomorrow’s memorial offering. Qian Jiaoniang told her she’d be staying the night and asked her to shift the bedding a little. Then she turned and went, familiar as ever, into the room she used to share with Xing Muzheng.
She lit the lamp on the table and walked to the bed to retrieve her quilt. Her eyes were suddenly drawn to a crack in one of the bedposts. She reached out and gently ran her fingers along the crack, her gaze turning deep and distant.
There was a faint sound at the door. Qian Jiaoniang snapped out of it, turning her head. Xing Muzheng had closed the door and was walking in, eyes fixed on her.
Qian Jiaoniang collected her thoughts and bent down to pick up the bedding.
“What are you doing?” Xing Muzheng asked in a low voice as he approached her from behind.
Qian Jiaoniang straightened up with the quilt in her arms and forced a smile. “Rest assured, My Lord, I won’t disturb you.”
As she moved to leave, Xing Muzheng stepped in front of her. She frowned and moved to the right—he followed; she stepped left—he blocked her again.
Irritated, Qian Jiaoniang looked up. Xing Muzheng stood against the light, his expression unreadable.
The candlelight flickered, casting twisting shadows on the wall.
“Stay,” Xing Muzheng rasped.
Qian Jiaoniang lowered her gaze and tried to slip past him.
Xing Muzheng grabbed her arm.
She stopped, struggling hard to shake him off, but his grip was unrelenting. The quilt fell to the ground, and her free hand went up to slap him—but he caught it, lowered his head, and kissed her red lips. The scent of wine rushed to her nose. She turned her head away, and he kissed her cheek instead. Qian Jiaoniang growled low, “Xing Muzheng!”
He paused. Their eyes locked—hers blazing, his fathomless.
Suddenly, he lifted her into his arms and threw her onto the bed. Qian Jiaoniang furiously pushed herself up, but he pressed her down again, sealing her lips in a fierce kiss. She tried to retreat, but he followed, pressing her back until she hit the wall with nowhere left to go. Trapped between him and the wall, he kissed her so roughly she could hardly breathe.
Only when she was on the verge of fainting did Xing Muzheng finally let her go. His thumb brushed over her swollen lips, and before she could bite him again, he withdrew.
“What does an imperial decree matter, hmm?” Xing Muzheng leaned in, their faces just a finger’s breadth apart. The shocking words he uttered left Qian Jiaoniang wide-eyed and breathless.
“If I really wanted, I could kill Wang Tieniu, announce to the world that you’d died of illness, and lock you up in the marquis manor as my possession. Even the imperial family wouldn’t know a thing,” he said in a low, menacing voice. “Is that what you want?”
Qian Jiaoniang gritted her teeth and said nothing.
“If not, then you’d better behave. You’ll never escape my grasp in this life. I am your heavens—understand? And if I ever find out you’re hiding something again…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but the threat hung heavy in the air.
“So this is how the great General Xing intimidates a defenseless woman,” Qian Jiaoniang said at last, staring straight at him without fear. “I’ve truly witnessed it with my own eyes.”
Xing Muzheng chuckled, reaching into her mouth with his finger, pressing against her sharp little canine. “Ah, so you’ve got two fangs—that explains your sharp tongue. Believe it or not…I could grind them flat.”
This time, Qian Jiaoniang seized the opportunity and bit down—hard.
Xing Muzheng had expected it and didn’t flinch, not even a twitch of his brow. Qian Jiaoniang shoved him away and leapt off the bed, spitting as she fled in disarray.
Xing Muzheng lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as he sucked his bitten thumb. After a while, he got up, picked the fallen quilt off the floor, dusted it off, and tossed it back on the bed. Then he called someone to bring a clean quilt and send it to Qian Jiaoniang.
The next day, Xing Muzheng’s household headed to Qixia Mountain to pay respects to his late parents. Keeping things simple, Xing Muzheng had only Ah Da drive the carriage for the three women and Xing Pingchun, while he and the Tian men rode on horseback. No one else was brought along.
Just before boarding the carriage, Liu Ying approached Xing Muzheng and quietly asked, “Muzheng, do you still remember what I told you last night?”
Xing Muzheng nodded. “Of course.”
“Then…do you believe me?” she asked again.
Xing Muzheng was silent for a moment. Liu Ying grew anxious. “Everything I said is true. We came here depending on your goodwill, afraid that you and your wife were too close and you wouldn’t take my words seriously—so I hesitated to tell you. But these past days, I’ve been eating and sleeping poorly, dreaming of your mother blaming me. Now that we’re about to visit her grave, if I don’t speak up, my conscience will never rest. If I’ve said a single false word—may I die right there before your mother’s tomb!”
“Please don’t say such things, Aunt. You are my mother’s own sister. Naturally, I believe you,” Xing Muzheng replied.
Liu Ying beamed with delight, practically ready to clap with joy. “Then…how will you deal with that Qian woman?”
“We’ll talk about it after we finish the memorial,” Xing Muzheng said.
“Good!” Liu Ying was now eager to fly to the grave herself.
“Aunt, time to board the carriage. What are you whispering to His Lordship?” Qian Jiaoniang walked over with a bright smile, affectionately taking Liu Ying’s arm.
Liu Ying gave Xing Muzheng a meaningful look and cleared her throat. “Nothing.” She made a show of reminding him not to forget anything, then turned and headed for the carriage—throwing her husband a victorious glance on the way.
Tian Linwen stood by the horse, stroking his beard to hide a smile.
Qian Jiaoniang asked softly, “Aunt, you’ve been acting so secretive—surely you didn’t really speak ill of me to the marquis, did you?”
Liu Ying replied coldly, “I’m not like you. I’ve never spoken behind others’ backs.”
Qian Jiaoniang chuckled lightly. “That’s good, then. Oh right, Aunt, during the memorial in a bit, do make sure to cry a little more sorrowfully. The marquis is a dutiful son—the louder you cry in front of his mother’s grave, the more he’ll believe you two sisters were truly close.”
Liu Ying’s eyes flicked, but she said, “I don’t need you to teach me.”
